


Late Night Conversations

by originally



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Wintersend Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bethany asks Isabela for a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Conversations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nsfwarlocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsfwarlocks/gifts).



“Bela,” Bethany says, into the half-darkness, “are you still awake?”

Isabela stirs next to her, jewellery jangling softly as she moves. They’re lying on Isabela's bed in the Hanged Man after a pleasant evening’s Wicked Grace, heads together but a modest gap left in between their bodies. Bethany wonders if Marian warned her off, since Isabela has never once tried anything more than sisterly when she sleeps here; this is not the first time they've done this, but it _is_ the first time Bethany has found the courage to speak.

Isabela stretches suddenly, catlike, her back arching off the bed in a motion that Bethany can't help but follow with her eyes. Her hair fans out around her, freed of its scarf for once, and when she turns her head to look at Bethany, the flickering candlelight makes her dark eyes glitter and sends shadows dancing across her face. She looks dangerous, as dangerous as Bethany knows she is. She imagines touching her, running her hands over Isabela’s body and finding all those knives she surely has tucked into her corset or her boot.

“What’s wrong, sweetness?” Isabela says. Bethany feels her blood quicken the way it always does at the nickname.

“Can’t sleep,” she murmurs, and it’s not a lie, not really. She’s been distracted, all too aware of Isabela’s warm body at her side, the heave of her breasts as her breathing steadies, the leather and sweat that scent her skin. “Will you tell me one of your tales?”

Isabela grins. “Which one? Did I ever tell you about that time I smuggled an Antivan nobleman into Val Royeaux dressed as a washerwoman?”

“Ah,” Bethany says, biting her lip. “I, er… I was thinking. About that time, that thing you said—” Maker’s breath, how does Marian do this so easily?

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Isabela says, her eyes crinkling with mirth.

Her laughter is only gently mocking, but Bethany feels her cheeks heat. She turns her face away, and mumbles into the sheets, “I thought—you said six things. Maybe you could tell me a tale about—about bedding a woman.”

Isabela’s grin widens impossibly. “Why, sweet thing, of course I can. How about I tell you about the time I met the Hero of Ferelden and her fiery little Chantry sister?”

“You slept with a Chantry sister?” Bethany says, shocked despite herself.

“Of course! Did you think that all those Chantry types were as pure as Sebastian Vael likes to pretend he is?” Isabela laughs and props herself up on one elbow, tossing her head to get her hair back from her face and exposing the taut tendons in her neck. Bethany wants to lick them.

“No,” Isabela goes on, “they spend all their lives in those cloisters, living on top of each other, sworn off all men but the Maker, right? Leliana wasn’t the first to try dipping into the honey pot, make no mistake. And she won’t be the last either.”

“Dipping into the—”

“The sweetest part,” Isabela says. There's a heartbeat where neither of them breathe out, a moment pregnant with promise, and then Isabela lets her fingers wander across the gap, that no-man’s land between their bodies. Her fingertips brush Bethany’s leg, just lightly, and Bethany can’t help but shiver. “Mages are the same, you know,” Isabela continues, conversationally, as if she hasn’t done anything at all. “All cooped up in those Circles. They’re all turning to each other for comfort, got to be. There’s something to be said for the warm body next to you.” She punctuates those last words by walking her fingers slowly, deliberately up Bethany’s thigh.

Bethany’s breath catches in her throat. “What,” she manages, and her voice sounds strangled to her own ears. “What happened with the Hero of Ferelden?”

“Oh, she was eager,” Isabela says. Her hand is still now but she doesn’t move it away, and Bethany feels her own body thrum with anticipation, like a bow string pulled and not released, full of potential. “She and her lover. They were both beautiful. That’s one thing I love about bedding women, sweet thing.” Isabela lets her hand drift up a little bit, over Bethany’s hip. “They’re lovely and soft, all these curves.”

Maker, why is such a teasing touch through her clothes making her skin crackle? The air feels charged, the way it does after she casts a spell.

"She made such desperate little sounds as I touched her, the Hero," Isabela says, her fingers skimming Bethany's belly.

"Bela..." It's more a gasp than a word.

"Tell me to stop," Isabela says, her hands pausing and her eyes finding Bethany's. Her expression is suddenly serious. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

"Don't stop."

Those words seem to be the right ones, because Isabela grins and her hands resume their journey upward. "I touched her just like this, through her clothes," she says, and it takes Bethany a moment to realise she's still telling the story.

Isabela's fingers cup Bethany's breasts through her linen tunic, brushing her nipples and sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Bethany squirms, and Isabela laughs. Her clever fingers tease and coax, all the time murmuring filth in Bethany's ear about the Hero of Ferelden, about how she touched her and kissed her and tasted her, until Bethany is moaning softly and arching off the bed as she tries to get Isabela to touch her more firmly, to slide her hands under Bethany's clothes, to move them lower to the ache between Bethany's legs.

"Oh, sweetness," Isabela purrs, low and dark. She hikes up Bethany's skirts and touches her hand to her damp smallclothes. "Is there something you need?"

"Please, Bela," Bethany gasps. "Please, please." 

Isabela pushes Bethany's smallclothes aside and meets her eyes briefly before bending her head to Bethany's lap. These aren't completely new sensations; Bethany knows this pleasure from late night exploration of her own body, from hours spent experimenting with what feels good and what does not, though Isabela's warm, wet mouth is very different from her own hands. Sparks crackle at her fingertips when Isabela's lips graze her sweet spot, and she hurriedly clamps down on the sudden surge of magic.

Isabela laughs. "Careful," she murmurs against Bethany's skin. "Save the electricity for when we need to shake things up."

Her tongue is as clever as her fingers when she flicks it over Bethany's heated flesh. She knows where to lick, how to suck, when to pause and let her breath ghost across Bethany's skin instead, until Bethany is writhing and moaning and bucking her hips against Isabela's face, her whole body trembling with pleasure. Just when Bethany is desperate, when she thinks that she might die if she doesn't get release, Isabela takes pity on her, pressing her tongue where Bethany needs it most. She feels it build, the pressure that starts in the centre of her and swells until it rolls over her like a wave of bliss, making her cry out.

Isabela works her through it, kissing and touching until Bethany can't stand it any longer and brushes her away. When she lifts her head, her face is damp and glistening.

"Come here," Bethany says, feeling suddenly bold. She pulls her down for a kiss, chasing the taste of herself on Isabela's tongue.

"I told you it's the sweetest part," Isabela says, her voice all fond amusement as she snakes her arms around Bethany, pulling her close.

"So, what happened next?" Bethany asks, after a heartbeat or two, and she's rewarded with Isabela's sharpest smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is somewhere close to smutty enough, eonycteris! Happy Wintersend :)
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://originally.tumblr.com).


End file.
